lacrimi lupi
by Louise Foxhall
Summary: Literally "the tears of the wolf"; Severus Snape was not the only man to love Lily Evans unconditionally. One-shot to "Teardrops on my Guitar" by Taylor Swift - I own neither the characters nor the song. Please R&R


_Winner of LoopyandLovely's "Taylor Swift One-Shot" competition and placed second in the "Taylor Swift songfic Challenge" on the HPFC_

**lacrimis lupis**

Remus, perched all angles on the covers of his neatly made bed, fingered the guitars dusty strings morosely. He still wore the elegant white shirt with its ridiculous frills, scarlet tie and expensive black jacket with the red carnation still firmly fixed in its buttonhole that he had put on that very morning, reminding him of that afternoons debacle.

He hadn't even wanted to go. He very nearly hadn't, but the suit which he now wore, hanging then on his wardrobe door, had haunted him like a ghost as he went about his business in his small flat, seeming always to be in his peripheral, staying just out of sight until he put it on. So he went, more for her than for himself. He couldn't miss his one chance to say goodbye so, however masochistic it might have been, he found himself presenting himself at the church door at half past eleven, suit on, smile fixed firmly in place.

It had gone wrong almost as soon as he arrived; he had found his seat, right at the front, to see James, his best mate, stood nervously beside the minister, hands threatening to mess up the hair someone had so painstakingly lacquered into place. Remus had almost smiled but his breath hitched in his throat as the chatter dimmed and the music swelled to the sound of people getting to their feet; Lily looked positively radiant, drifting effortlessly down the short aisle, long cream dress so chosen to not add unwanted pallor to her already alabaster skin, cut simple and modest but a perfect fit all the same, vows spoken softly, reverently, due solemnity masking her elated grin as she promised herself to _the wrong man_.

He tried to be happy for his James as he made his vows in return, stumbling clumsily over the words, so anxious was he to get them right. He tried to be happy when a red ribbon shot with gold bound itself round his wrist, linking him to Lily. He tried to be happy for him when finally they were pronounced man and wife. Merlin knows he tried to be happy for James that day like every other, so Remus made the effort to clap James on the back as any good friend would and offer his congratulations, all the while feeling sick to his stomach, but he didn't stay. He couldn't. He excused himself from the party that was to follow, insisting that he couldn't possibly join them, that he didn't dance, that he was tired on account of the approaching full moon. Both Mr and the new Mrs Potter had looked disappointed but their eyes, so full of understanding, showed him only pity. So he left, with another shake of the hand for James and a kiss on the forehead for Lily, he left and returned home.

Remus's fingers whispered once more against the strings, creating a minor chord before moving on to play the next, letting his eyes close and finding the note with his voice. He had once told his friends that he found music to be a form of magic stronger than any other, but of course, being James and Sirius, they had just laughed. In fact, they found the whole thing rather amusing, though Lily would often sit beside him in the common room, legs tucked beneath her and just listen to him play the songs that he wrote for her, always for her, appreciative but all the time unaware, captivated by the throaty baritone of his voice.

That night he wrote another, tears mingling with the notes as he played and sang of a girl with emerald eyes and the reddest of hair, of how she would look at him with such wonder and still not see the hurt behind the cracking smile he always hid behind, of how he envied the man she had married that very afternoon because he knew, deep down that man deserved her and he did not. He sang of how they would stay up all night and just talk, laughing, always laughing though his laughter was always bitter and slightly off-key as he realised to her, he was only a friend. Remus remembered that night James proposed, because he was the first person Lily told, cheeks flushed and in that moment, on top of the world. She'd never looked more beautiful. He would have kissed her there and then on her oh so kissable lips had she not turned to him, and said what she had said;

"_Remus, I've finally got it right." _Because he'd been that guy too, who had sat with her, held her while she sobbed virulent tears after another boy had broken her heart. He'd been the guy who had seen her to bed happier than she had been when she'd woken up and then he'd been the guy who had gone to his own bed and slept little, thinking of her, as he was, all night long.

Lily was the reason for the teardrops dampening his guitar now, the reason he was sat there on his bed, gazing out of the window, singing to the stars, wishing on every single one he could see with all his might that she would finally understand. Remus wasn't one for idle wishes, he had it ingrained in him to work hard and to dream within reach, to keep his feet firmly on the ground and his head out of the clouds, but Lily brought out even the most deeply buried of emotions and traits. Lily was the reason for everything he did, every song he sang – it sounded clichéd even to him but she was his _raison d'__ê__tre_ –

Remus broke off abruptly, unwound the worn strap from around his shoulder and shoved the instrument roughly from him, letting it slide haphazardly off the covers and to the floor at his feet before him and kicking angrily out at it and watching without emotion as it splintered on the uncarpeted floor - _raison d'__ê__tre_, he scoffed to himself – he was nineteen, nearly twenty years old. He needed to grow up and stop indulging in such self-pity and stop writing such pathetic songs. He needed to get on with his own bloody life. _Raison d' _bloody_ê__tre, _indeed. He looked once more at the shattered guitar and at the picture of Lily at his bedside and sighed, fresh tears rolling down his thin face at the sight and resignedly picked the instrument up once more, repairing it with a quick flick of his wand, the melody he had just created still fresh in his head.

Lily, beautiful, perfect, Lily Evans – Potter – what words were there to write? He opened his mouth again, fingers strumming the same riff, but his breath caught in his throat. Lily was…flawless, the flawless he never would be. Unscarred, life untainted by things out of control whereas he could only wish Fate had thrown him a different lot. A lot like Lily's, creating a life in which he deserved her. But he wasn't that guy, James was. Remus liked and envied James in equal measures. There was no doubt that he was fortunate, doted upon, adored by his parents and that he knew it. He was rich, perhaps unforgivably so, but he didn't flaunt it and he was generous with it. He was good looking, the sort of attractive that girls went for as opposed to the mysterious, brooding, emo look that often drove them away. Remus hadn't lacked love in his childhood, and the small cottage in a Cornish costal village in which he'd grown up was always pleasantly messy and cosy but the shadow of the wolf that haunted him still had always been there, lurking even in the most well lit of rooms and the loss of his father at such a young age especially in such circumstances had certainly not helped. James had better treat her as she deserved then, hold her tight, look in those eyes that he himself loved so much and tell her that he loved her _every single day_ otherwise Remus might just find an excuse to do it himself.

The last few words tumbled from his lips, bittersweet and straight from the heart until he fell silent, tears still staining his cheeks and painting the battered wood of the guitar, the vibrant colour of her emerald eyes still staring at him from behind her eyelids. He smiled softly, sadly and, brushing his hair behind his ear, reached across to his beside for a scrap of parchment and a quill, intending to play out the melody again and write the words down; though he was sure he would never be short of ways to describe Lily.

The song played on repeat all night, even when the guitar was returned to its case and the lyrics tucked behind that photo of Lily out by the lake he had on his bedside table beneath the lamp, which, when turned on, burnished her auburn curls with a halo.

That night, the picture which always faced him was put down, a certain closure having settled over his heart.

When he was old enough, Teddy Lupin inherited both the cottage in Cornwall and the flat which Remus had owned and though he found the guitar and various pictures and songs of which his mother was the subject, he never found this particular pair of objects; the song remained tucked in the picture frame and the picture was subsequently buried with its subject in November 1981.


End file.
